


The Last One to Know

by Zelabyrn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Daughters, Death, Multi, Mystery, Parentlock, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelabyrn/pseuds/Zelabyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes home one day to find a surprise from the past and a new challenge from his greatest adversary. Can he solve this mystery in time and save the daughter he never knew he had?</p><p>Pre Reichenbach</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy Father's Day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first ever fanfiction. I don't profess to being much of a writer so please, any advice or reviews would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Also: I do not own any of the characters of Arthur Conan Doyle or any of the interpretation put forth but Sherlock BBC.

He knew the moment he stepped in the room that something was different. Sherlock walked up the stairs, leaving Mycroft and John at the bottom. His eyes drifted around the room taking in everything instantaneously. There it was on the desk…a disk on top of a card. Sherlock picked up the objects and read the sticky note on it.

Watch me first. JM

"What's that?" Sherlock didn't turn as John entered the room closely followed by Mycroft. He instead walked over to John's computer and inserted the disk. "Certainly Sherlock, please feel free to use my computer." Sherlock didn't respond. John came around behind him and watched as the screen opened to a slideshow. "Who is that?" John asked as the computer screen displayed photos of Sherlock and a woman.

"Amelia Banks." Sherlock spoke finally, as he opened the card. The name grabbed Mycroft's attention, causing him to walk over to the computer; which had begun to show more intimate photos of Sherlock with the woman, photos that John didn't ever think Sherlock was capable of. And then it changed, no longer showing Sherlock, just the woman.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft interrupted; his eyes wide with concern. "Where did you get this from?"

"It was on my desk when I came in." He responded coolly, "With this", he handed the opened card to Mycroft without removing his eyes from the screen. The pictures started moving faster, showing the woman and now a baby. Speeding up again, the images show that baby growing and then stopping at a picture of the child around the age of 3. The last photo lagged on the screen. The child was small and skinny, with dark black curly hair and crystal blue eyes, with just a hint of green in them, she was a perfect clone of Sherlock.

Sherlock watched as John leaned over toward Mycroft who still had the card.

Happy Father's Day Sherlock- JM.

"Sherlock…"Mycroft's voice trailed off as the screen changed to a video of the little girl holding someone's hand, the camera zoomed out as the music died off, opening up to a view of a smiling Jim Moriarty on the other side of the hand.

"Didn't know you had it in you," Moriarty drawled at the camera, he reached down and patted the child's head. The girl jerked her neck and gave the coldest stare ever to the man, exactly like Sherlock when he is angry and ready to retaliate. "Oooo," Jim pulled his hand back, "She's a feisty one Sherlock." He giggled. "Just like you." He stared at the camera. "Come and get her Sherlock, you and only you…or" He teased in his high pitch voice. He broke out in a smile as several red dots began to show up all over the child. "We wouldn't want that now would we?" His face hardened to a serious stare. "Wait for my next direction." He laughed as the screen went black. Sherlock just stared as Mycroft walked away from the desk toward the fireplace.

"What's going on?" John asked.

"Where is he?" A new voice yelled out as a flurry of action made its way up the stairs.

"I'm sorry Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson called out as the sound of quick feet bounded up the stairs. "She wouldn't wait." They all turned as the woman from the video came running into the room, her eyes were wide and frantic. She was wearing all tight black clothes with her brown hair pulled back into a tight bun, highlighting her classic features and small trim body. Her brown eyes searched the room, passing by John, and Sherlock and stopping on Mycroft who was trying his best not to notice the woman. The next moment was a blur as Sherlock watched John holding the woman back while Mycroft steadied himself from the magnificent punch she had delivered to his face.

"You son of a bitch." She hissed, struggling to be released so she could continue her assault on Mycroft. "Couldn't keep your mouth shut could you?" She glanced back at John. "Let me go, he deserves this." She grated out.

"So you knew about this." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. The room quieted immediately and everyone stopped as Sherlock's words pierced the mêlée. He stepped away from the computer, adjusted his jacket and walked around the room to Mycroft, in his hand the card that had accompanied the disk. Mycroft ignored Sherlock as he pulled out a hanky to stem the stream of blood coming from his nose.

"Of course he knew about it." The woman replied. "It's ok," she turned to John. "I will control myself." John nodded and released his grip. The woman walked up to Mycroft who was still avoiding making eye contact with her. "He was the only one who knew about Elyse, knew who her father was. Isn't that right Mycroft?" The woman shook her head and turned toward the fireplace, she meet his eyes through the glass of the mirror just above it. "You would really do anything to get what you want, wouldn't you Mycroft?" she turned back, her eyes watering just slightly. "And, now because of your God complex, my daughter is in the hands of that lunatic."

"I didn't know he would…" Mycroft began.

"You didn't know." The girl interrupted with a sneer. "Of course you knew." She stepped away from Mycroft, her hands by her sides clenching and unclenching in an extreme effort to control herself. "He would do anything to destroy Sherlock and you gave him all the ammo he needed didn't you." She shook her head in disgust as Mycroft opened his mouth and then closed it again, resigning to silence, his hand still holding the handkerchief tight against his face. "Stay out of my way." She leaned in and grated out. "I will get her back, but I swear to God if I even think I caught a glimpse of you or if Elyse is injured in any way, I will find you and finish what I started here."

She turned and walked away, heading down towards the stairs. "Is that all?" she stopped on a dime, as Sherlock's voice called behind her.

"What else should there be?" she whispered, not turning.

"What else indeed." He walked through the kitchen door and came to a stop directly in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back as he sauntered.

"Get out of my way Sherlock." She replied, not lifting her head to meet his eyes.

"How could you?" his voice was low, almost too low to hear. "How could you not tell me that you were...That I had…?"

"Oh please Sherlock," she replied, finally looking up at him. "I did you a favor." Her eyes meet his with a small hint of hesitation. "Look around here; look at your life, where would you have put an infant? You wouldn't have been able to handle it, and then you would have fallen back into…"

"Well it certainly is a good thing for me that everyone else, except my worst enemy" He cut her off, waving the card in his hands, his eyes drifted to Mycroft. "Seems to know what is best for me." He continued, interrupting Amelia as she tried to talk again. "However," his voice clouding with anger. "Amelia," he almost shouted. "You had no right to keep this from me!"

"I had my reasons." She whispered unapologetic. "Now get out of my way, I have to go get my daughter."

"Our daughter apparently," Sherlock whispered back. Amelia lifted her eyes and held his glance for a moment. "And, you are going to need me, based on the warning I received this morning."

"What warning?" her voice immediately picked up in intensity. Sherlock turned and walked back to the computer, he leaned over and pushed the replay button and the video began again. Amelia followed and watched in confusion as the video played with pictures of very intimate moments between her and Sherlock. "Where in God's named did he get these pictures from?" Sherlock and Amelia looked at each other for a moment and then both turned their hard stares toward Mycroft, who responded by clearing his throat and turning away.

"You're a piece of work, Mycroft." Amelia finally uttered before the screen on the computer changed to the video of Elyse and Moriarty. Sherlock felt Amelia's breathing grow quicker as she listened to his words and watched the sniper dots light her daughter's frame. Only Sherlock, he would only give her to Sherlock.

Amelia walked over to the fireplace and sat down in a chair, dropping her head in her hands for a moment. The room was quiet as she sat there. "Will you help her?" she ask softy.

"Yes." the answer came back with no hesitation.

"Thank you." She dropped her head as she replied, standing up from the chair and heading toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock stood up, following her to the door. "We need to come up with a plan," he continued grabbing her arm and swinging her around, behind them Mrs. Hudson stood at the top of the stairs, her eyes a light with worry. "We…" his voice died out at the sight of the sadness in her face. His expression froze up like a statue as he stood there, he didn't know how to process it, and he didn't know what to say.

"I need a moment," she whispered as she wiped the tears from her face, shaking her head at his obvious struggle comprehending her sadness. To him the task at hand was getting Elyse back, not the pain of losing her in the first place and the fear of not knowing what is going to happen to her. How could be concerned, he didn't even know about her until just a few moments ago. "We can talk later. It's just that now…I…" 

"Yes," he replied, letting go of her arm. "The bathroom…" he motioned to the door down the hallway with his head. "You will have complete privacy there."

"Thank you." She turned and walked into the room, closing the door softly behind her.

"Sherlock?" John came up behind him. "Sherlock, is that little girl, that child, is she your daughter?"

"Oh dear." Mrs. Hudson whispered.

"It would seem so." He replied, his eyes still on the door down the hall. "Mycroft…how is your nose?"

"I think she broke it." He finally replied.

"Good." Sherlock sneered, turning to confront his brother.

"Please Sherlock," Mycroft returned, his pompous mannerisms returning. "Let's not be childish about this."

"Oh, that is rich." Sherlock threw up his hand in frustration as he continued. "I find out that I have a child," he paced the room as he spoke, his hands still clasped behind his back. "And, that my brother has known all along" he stopped in front of Mycroft. "But, I am not to find something irritating about that?"

"Really, Sherlock" Mycroft shook his head, and then winced in pain eliciting a smile from Sherlock. "I wasn't the only one who kept it from you. It appears that more than one person thought you were ill-equipped to handle fatherhood."

"Once again," Sherlock whispered harshly, "Don't assume that you know what is best for me Mycroft." Sherlock stared at his brother for a moment before continuing. "Leave, before I finish where Ms. Banks left off." Sherlock turned and walked to the window, picking up his violin and tuning the strings.

"Sherlock…"

"I said leave Mycroft." He exclaimed as he pulled the bow across the strings, the dissonant sound echoing through the flat.

"Well then," Mycroft grabbed his cane and headed toward the stairs. "Good evening John, Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock didn't stop playing until he saw Mycroft get in his car and drive away.

"My dear, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson came up behind him. "Did you say you have a child?"

Sherlock looked out the window, "Yes. Mrs. Hudson" he replied after a moment of reflection. "It appears I do."

"Is she ok," Mrs. Hudson asked looking to both John and Sherlock, very aware of the heavy atmosphere in the room. Sherlock's gaze stayed locked on the window.

"Ah, ok…Mrs. Hudson." John replied, knowing full well that Sherlock had nothing more to say. Sherlock wasn't good with emotions and the revelations of the last few minutes must have pushed him to the edge of his limited capacities with his own feelings. He was in no state to converse with anyone and he was marginally relieved that at least John knew it. John walked over to Mrs. Hudson. "Shall we go downstairs and sample some of those delicious smelling biscuits you made this morning." Sherlock turned as John put his arm around Mrs. Hudson's shoulder and turned her toward the stair.

"They were chocolate biscuits weren't they?" he heard John ask Mrs. Hudson as she reluctantly accompanied him, turning back just one more time to catch a glimpse of Sherlock, a look of worry on her face.

"Ah, yes." She uttered utter, having to pull her eyes forward to maneuver down the stairs. A few moments later a dark resonant melody swept in to replace the silence.


	2. A Truce of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes to terms with the news of having a daughter.

Amelia sat with her legs up on the couch and watched from the window. Night had fallen and outside the sky was lit up with stars and taxi cab lights. She pulled the soft robe around her tighter and sat quietly. John had given it to her after she had asked to take a shower as the clothes she sent for hadn’t arrived yet. She sat in strained silence for a while before finally falling asleep on the couch; when she awoke Sherlock was gone. John had left shortly after, leaving her to get something for all of them to eat, despite telling him several times that she wasn’t hungry. She turned as the sound of the door alerted her to the presence of someone coming in. Someone new, judging by the footsteps… a man. Her mind immediately went into training mode as she prepared to defend herself in this foreign environment.  


“Sherlock!” she relaxed immediately as she recognized the voice, quickly adjusting her legs around to a sitting position as the Detective Inspector Lestrade walked through the door.  


“Hello Detective Inspector.” Amelia nodded to the man.  


“Is Sherlock here?” the Inspector asked. “Do I know you?” Amelia had to hold back a smile at his obvious confusion.  


“No and no.” Amelia looked around the flat to indicate that no one else was here. “I’m not certain where he is, he wasn’t here when I woke up.”  


“Um…” Lestrade interrupted, obviously uncomfortable. “Is he coming back soon? I need to speak with him right away.”  


“I believe so,” she replied. “As a matter of fact, I think” she spoke as the door opened and the tell tale sounds of Sherlock’s footsteps echoed up the stairs, “He’s here right now.”  


Sherlock walked into the room with a bag in his hand and stopped a second to take in the scene. He walked past the Inspector and handed the bag to Amelia.  


“It’s not much; I had to guess your size.” Amelia took the bag looked through it. Inside was a black sweat suit, size 3.  


“Good guess.” She replied knowing full well he didn’t have to guess.  


“You’re welcome,” Sherlock replied, his eyes still locked with hers. There was too much left unsaid between them to not make any interaction uncomfortable…not only for them but for others too.  


“Excuse me,” Lestrade interrupted; a look of shock on his face. “Am I interrupting something?” Lestrade’s eyes drifted around the flat trying to avoid the obvious stuffiness of the situation. “Sherlock, I need your help.”  


“Of course you do,” Sherlock broke eye contact and turned to Lestrade, effectively ending the moment.  


“Sherlock, please.” Lestrade blurted out.  


“Where is John?” Sherlock looked around the flat, ignoring Lestrade completely.  


“He’s not here.” Amelia replied. “He went to get some food.”  


“Of course.” Sherlock replied in annoyance  


“Sherlock!” Lestrade exclaimed.  


“People have to eat, Sherlock.” Amelia interjected.  


“SHERLOCK!” both Amelia and Sherlock turned to Lestrade. “I need your help!” he asked, his eyebrows high and questioning.  


“Oh, yes.” Sherlock walked over to Lestrade, “The Lake Street murder, it should be clear cut, even to you lot.”  


“Sherlock.” Lestrade warned.  


“Either way,” he waved away Lestrade’s words, “I do not have time to bother myself with the obvious.” He walked over to the desk and picked up his phone, quickly texting and putting it back down. “I have a case that requires my full attention.”  


“And what’s that?” Lestrade asked in obvious disbelief. “Someone lose their Bunny Rabbit?” Sherlock rolled his eyes and mocked his remark under his breath as he walked around to the window.  


“He’s working for me.” Amelia offered, turning to look at Sherlock, catching his eyes before she continued. She wasn’t sure how much he wanted her to divulge. He shook his head slightly at her silent question and she turned back to the officer. “To help me find my daughter.”  


“What happened to your daughter?” Lestrade asked, his mind jumping on the case.  


Amelia didn’t respond and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back. “Her daughter was kidnapped and I have offered to help.”  


“Kidnapped!” Lestrade exclaimed. “Why hasn’t someone went to the police about this?”  


“Because Moriarty will kill her if anyone but me goes.” Sherlock offered, getting frustrated with the situation. “And your lot does not have a great track record with understanding the rules, let alone following them with this maniac.”  


“How do you know that? That he only wants you to go?” Lestrade prodded, knowing there was something more to this then Sherlock and this woman was letting on. “It could be a trap.”  


“Of course it’s a trap and I know because he sent me a message.” Sherlock offered back.  


“And you’re ready to just walk into a trap.” Lestrade insisted. “Why would he send you a personal message about it?”  


“Yes I would gladly.” Sherlock flipped back, a note of adolescent annoyance in his voice, obviously avoiding the second question.  


“Why is it so important you go?”  


“Because.”  


“Because what Sherlock?”  


“BECAUSE SHE’S MY DAUGHTER!” Sherlock yelled out, “The child is my daughter.” He repeated softer.  


“You’re what!?” Lestrade came back immediately.  


“My daughter.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the man’s surprise.  


“I’m sorry,” Lestrade continued. “What was that again?”  


“MY DAUGHTER!” Sherlock yelled again. “That’s right,” he continued. “I have fathered a child. Can we move past that part to the important issue at hand? She has been kidnapped!”  


“Ok.” Lestrade continued. “So.” He put his hands on his hips, caught up in the moment. “I’m sorry…you have a daughter?”  


Sherlock threw his hands in the air and groaned. He walked over to his violin and began playing again.  


“Yes.” Amelia finally explained. “He has a daughter.” She held out her hand. “My name is Amelia Banks.” she added stopping for just a moment to turn to Sherlock. “Can I trust him?” she asked.  


Sherlock stopped playing a moment and nodded his head, then immediately went back to his playing.  


“My name is Amelia and I am...”  


“A Spy.” Sherlock interrupted as he drew the bow across the strings tightly. Amelia sighed.  


“Excuse me?” Lestrade asked.  


“She’s a spy.” Sherlock called out again. “For the CIA.”  


“Interpol.” Amelia corrected. Sherlock turned to her in surprise, his head cocked to the side. “I work for Interpol now.”  


“You do?” he asked.  


“Yes.” Amelia replied.  


“How did you get the CIA to let you go?” Sherlock placed the violin under his arm and walked over to her.  


“I didn’t give them a choice.” She spoke defiantly.  


“Of course you didn’t.” Sherlock smirked. “You were always one to get your way. Poor Mycroft for thinking he could avoid your wrath.”  


“He had it coming.” Amelia hissed, still angry at the man.  


“He certainly did.” Sherlock agreed.  


“What happened to Mycroft?” Lestrade asked.  


“Amelia here…punched him in the face.” Sherlock smiled as he explained. “She broke his nose.”  


“I did!?” Amelia smiled smugly, very pleased with herself.  


“Ok.” Lestrade concealed a smile and continued. “A side from that,” he looked to Sherlock, “You’re daughter?!”  


“Yes.” Amelia continued. “I am an operative with Interpol but four years ago or so, I was working with the CIA and lucky me, my case happened to catch the interest of Sherlock Holmes.” She shook her head at Sherlock as he grunted in response and picked the violin back up. “We didn’t necessarily hit it off right away.” Sherlock murmured something under his breath as he began to play again. “But there was something.” Amelia rolled her eyes and spoke louder to counter Sherlock’s playing. “Afterwards, in return for his help, I helped him when he was in a…difficult place.” Amelia took a deep calming breath as the violin got louder. “Well, long story short, we have a daughter and Moriarty kidnapped her.”  


“Precisely!” Sherlock exclaimed “so as you can see I have other matters to deal with.” he put down the violin and walked over to Lestrade. “I think it goes without saying that we require a certain level of decency regarding this situation.”  


“So,” Lestrade finally spoke up. “You,” he stared at Amelia. “And him.” he continued. “How?”  


“Do I really have to explain the particulars to you?” Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. “Or is your feeble mind able to understand the outcome of the act of…”  


“Sherlock!” John’s voice interrupted.  


“Thank God” Sherlock whispered, happier than he had even been to see John coming up the stairs.  


“What’s going on?” John asked as he walked in with an arm full of Chinese food, he’s eyes moving from the still obviously shocked Lestrade to the frustrated Sherlock. “So you told him?” he asked as he stood in the silent room. Sherlock turned to the window and clasped his hands behind his back.  


“Of course I told him,” Sherlock replied. “What difference does it make of he knows?” his frustration overflowing to aggression. “It won’t be long before everyone knows about the illegitimate child that I never knew of or wanted, but now have to rescue, because her mother,” Sherlock turned to Amelia, flailing his arm in her direction “the self-professed spy of spies, couldn’t keep her eyes on her.”  


The room was suddenly felt to small, no one dare more. “Ok.” Amelia finally broke the strained silence, her face red from anger and embarrassment. “Excuse me.” She continued, turning and walking down the hall to the bathroom with the bag of clothes.  


“Wonderful Sherlock,” John replied as he placed the bags on the table, “That was just wonderful.” his voice hinged with disappointment and accusation. “I would say you should apologize but we all know that isn’t going to happen.” Sherlock turned and gave John a hard stare. “I know this is hard for you, but for once in your life,” John continued, “Stop acting like a child. That woman in there didn’t ask for this,” John shook his head as Sherlock turned away again. “She is hurting and so is little Elyse.” John threw his hands up in defeat when Sherlock didn’t respond. “Why did you bother?” his words were low and dark. “Why did you bother to even offer to help her? Is it because it is another way for you to prove your superiority over Moriarty or is it because Elyse is your child?” John slapped his own forehead, “I can’t believe I even asked that question.” He amazed. “Of course you don’t care about your own flesh and blood, this is just another chance to show the world what an amazing show off Sherlock Holmes is.”  


Sherlock took a deep breath and released it, clasping his hand behind his back and turning away again.  


“I think I should go.” Lestrade walked past John. He stopped and smiled tentatively at John before walking down the stairs and out the door. 

Sherlock didn’t turn until the bathroom door opened; Amelia came out dressed in the clothes that Sherlock had bought her. She didn’t make eye contact with either of them as she grabbed her stuff, rummaging through her wallet and removing a few pounds. She dropped them on the table and grabbed the disk from the computer before heading for the door.  


“Where are you going?” Sherlock was right behind her in a second.  


“Leave her alone Sherlock.” John let out in exasperation.  


Amelia turned around and met his stare with a hard one of her own. “I am going to find MY” she placed added emphasis on the word. “Daughter. I do not need nor want your help.” She continued as she walked down the stairs. “Stay out of my way.”  


“Amelia!” Sherlock followed her down the stairs, intercepting her by standing in front of the door.  


“Get. Out. Of. My. Way!” she annunciated every word softly.  


Sherlock just stared in response.  


Amelia dropped her head, staring at the floor. “Why are you doing this?” she finally asked, her head still down. “You already said you don’t want anything to do with her, why bother? Is your pride really that important?” Amelia raised her head and shook it, “You will never change Sherlock. No matter what you will always be addicted to…something.” Amelia stopped for a moment and took a step closer to him. “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Her voice was soft and calm now. “I knew what it would do to your world.” She paused of a moment “But,” she continued, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions, “when I found out that I was having her…I couldn’t bring myself to…to…” she broke off with a laugh, wiping away the tears that were flowing downs her face. “I knew she would be special, so I had to have her. I guess I was selfish, not telling you, not giving you a chance to grow accustomed with the idea.” Amelia looked up, her vision blurred under the tears. “I just didn’t think you…could care.”  


She didn’t move as Sherlock came to stand in front of her, offering her his white handkerchief. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him or her as he held out the piece of fabric. He was not the type to apologize…this white flag of sorts was the closest he would come to making peace.  


Amelia took the gift and wiped her eyes, nodding slightly to indicate that she understood. Sherlock pursed his lips and turned, heading back up the stairs just as a sharp knock at the front door echoed through the hallway.


	3. The First Clue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A package arrives for Sherlock, the game is on.

Sherlock ran out the door just in time to catch the back lights of a car speeding down the street. He reached out and grabbed Amelia’s hand as she past by him, stopping her before she began a pursuit. “There's no sense in following them.” He spoke as he released her hand and walked over to the stoop. “The job they were sent to do was done.” He added as he walked back to the door, leaning over to pick up the brightly wrap shoe box sized package leaning against the stairs.

“What is that?”

“Our first clue,” Sherlock replied, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Back in the apartment Sherlock rattle the box as John set out the food. “It’s an envelop.” He deduced, “With a single piece of paper in it.” He continued as he ripped off the covering and pulled out the contents.

“What does it say?” Amelia asked, he through her a sideways glance as she walked up to him.

“I don’t know.” He replied, as he lifted the envelop to the light “I haven’t opened it yet. But,” he added. “Hmm.” He continued as he opened up the letter, the paper still stuffed inside.

“I can tell it was typed, on a typewriter, an older one at that.”

“I don’t see any typing.” John added as he joined the observation.

“That’s because the words are on the inside.” Sherlock replied, opening the sides of the envelop “But if you look you can see where the paper ripped as it was being pulled off the platen, possibly a worn down roller inside the carriage. You really should use two sheets of paper when typing on an older typewriter.” He continued as he pulled out the piece of paper and unfolding it. The three heads crowded in as he opened the piece of paper. In the middle, and perfectly typed was:

52 205 Tall  
0 119 Wide

"What do you think it means?" John asked. Sherlock didn't answer; he instead pulled out his phone and began typing. "Are they measurements?" John walked over and handed the paper to Amelia as he asked. 

"No," she answered. "They aren’t measurements." she stared at the paper. "Maybe they are some sort of cipher."

"Really?" Sherlock sighed as he dropped his phone on the table. "I have no idea how ordinary people get through life completely missing everything around them." 

"What is it Sherlock?" John asked with a sigh.

"They...are coordinates." Sherlock finally admitted, "Latitude and longitude used to navigate a specific spot on the globe."

“What spot Sherlock?” John asked in exasperation. 

“Cambridge.” Sherlock replied.

"Cambridge?" Amelia walked toward the fireplace. "How could he have known? I mean that can’t be a coincidence"

"Know what?" John asked.

"Cambridge." Amelia explained, "Is where I first meet Sherlock. But," she continued with a look of confusion in her voice. "How?"

"So is he telling us she's in Cambridge?" John asked. 

"It would seem so." Sherlock replied absently, reaching for the paper from Amelia. "That can't be all." His voice low and quiet as continued. "Something is missing; it couldn't be as easy as she is in Cambridge." 

"Why not?" Amelia asked, as she handed him the paper. "And more importantly, why are we still here? If Elyse is in Cambridge, why aren't we leaving?" 

"We can't just run out the door, Amelia." Sherlock sighed. 

"Why not?" Amelia repeated, heavy with anxiety. "I know she doesn't mean much to you, but she is my daughter and I am not going to sit around while some maniac uses her in his sick game." Amelia angrily pointed to the paper in Sherlock's hand. "If he's telling you she is in Cambridge then let's go to Cambridge. Why can't it be that easy?"

"Because," Sherlock shook his head frustration, trying to concentrate, "That's not how Moriarty works. He wouldn't, as they say, show all his cards up front, he loves the game too much."

"More then you?" Amelia asked. Sherlock snapped his head to the side and glared at her. "Well," Amelia asked, "Are you so bored that you are willing to play a game with Elyse's life?"

"Of course not," Sherlock replied with sarcasm, "Please lead it way." motioned to the hallway. "Since you obviously know where she is in Cambridge?" 

"Sherlock...," John tried to intervene, walking between them.

"No, I don't" Amelia interrupted. "But why stay here? Can't you deduce in Cambridge?"

"There is something more to this." Sherlock waved the paper at her. "And if you could shut up for a moment, I will figure it out!"

"Fine." Amelia snapped back, "Take all the time you want Sherlock, but I'm not wasting any more of mine here." Amelia grabbed her stuff and headed to the door. “I’ll be in Cambridge, give me a call when you’re ready to save Elyse! Better yet, don't bother. I will find her myself."

"Amelia?" John called out to her. "Amelia?" he called again just as the door at the bottom of the stairs closed. He turned toward Sherlock and shook his head. "That's great, just great Sherlock."

"We don't need her." Sherlock continued; his eyes still on the paper. 

"What?" 

"Well, she really wasn't much help anyway, was she?" 

"Help? With what Sherlock? Helping you break the case or helping her save your child?"

"What's the difference?" Sherlock turned to John, a serious look on his face.

"What's the difference!?” John replied in shock. "What's...Never mind, Sherlock," John threw his hand up in defeat, "I give up. I'm going out."

"You mean you're going after her." Sherlock corrected, still looking over the paper.

"Yes." John admitted. "I'm going to help her find Elyse."

"Be my guest." Sherlock waved his hand toward the door, "Please keep me informed on your progress. It would be a refreshing change if you cracked a case for once."

John took a deep breath before responding, "You amaze me Sherlock, sometimes you simply amaze me, you have no idea how important this is, it's just another case, isn't it?"

"Are you finally coming to understand, that is all there is John, all that matters is the next case, the next clue. With out it I am nothing." Sherlock replied in aggravation. 

"How could I forget," John spoke hotly, heading toward the stairs, turning just before he left. "I feel sorry for you Sherlock...yes that's right." he added in response to Sherlock's exaggerated sigh. "One day Sherlock, one day you are going to find yourself alone and miserable...with no one to show off too."

Sherlock sat facing the fire, the letter still in his hand. It had been over an hour since John and Amelia had left. Good riddance. They could search up and down Cambridge and still find nothing that would lead them to the girl. This was the better option anyway, they would only slow him down, this kept them busy and out of his way. This, he thought as he lift up the letter again, was only one step in the process, the first clue of what Sherlock was certain would be many. He just couldn’t imagine that Moriarty would go through all the trouble of trudging through his past, kidnapping a child, and make a production quality disk to simply send a letter telling him that she is in Cambridge. He was either missing something or he didn’t have all the information yet. He was inclined to believe the later, there was nothing else the letter could tell him. Which makes it a dead end, Cambridge is the destination yes but, it wasn’t time to go yet. There was still more to find. 

*****************

Sherlock jerked to the sound of the door closing; he turned his head and watched as Lestrade strode in. Sherlock reached his hand out to him the moment he came in sight. “Where did you find it?”

“Find what?” Lestrade asked

“The letter you’re bringing me.” Sherlock sighed, “Where did you find it?”

“How did you know?”

“What other reason would bring you here past 11:00pm if not to delivery me my next clue,” Sherlock leaned over the chair and flattened his hand out. “Thank you,” he quipped as Lestrade lay the envelop in his hand. Lestrade didn’t speak as Sherlock stood up and placed the first letter on the table, turning on the light to examining the new one.

“It’s the same stationary as earlier.” He spoke mostly to himself as he opened the letter. “Also typed,” he added as he pulled out the second letter and placed it flat on the table next to the first one. “Almost identically spaced.”

Lestrade came up behind him, “What does it mean?”

“Well,” Sherlock stopped and took a look at Lestrade. “Still having issues with the wife huh?”

“Stop right there,” Lestrade barked out. “This isn’t about me. What are those?” he pointed to the papers on the desk. “What do those numbers mean?”

Sherlock stared at the man before continuing. “The first sets of numbers are coordinates. The second set, 6 18 is…”

“That’s tomorrows’ date.” Lestrade interrupted. 

“Yes.” Sherlock replied sharply, obviously disturbed by being interrupted. 

“What does it mean though?” 

“It means,” Sherlock added with no little measure of aggravation in his tone. “That whatever Moriarty is planning will come to a head tomorrow. But there is still something missing?” Sherlock threw his hands up in frustration and turned toward the fire. “I understand Cambridge…”

“What did you say?” Lestrade interrupted again.

“The coordinates,” Sherlock waived to the paper’s on the desk. “They lead to Cambridge.”

“That’s where we found it.” Lestrade continued.

Sherlock turned sharply, “Cambridge.” Sherlock asked with intensity. “You found the letter in Cambridge, where?!” he demanded.

“Well,” Lestrade began, “Not Cambridge exactly. We found it on Cambridge Street. Number 7 Cambridge Street to be exact. Does that mean something?”

“It may,” Sherlock turned back to the fire, his hands flat together in front of his face; eerily quiet as he thought. “Cambridge,” he whispered, “Tomorrow.” He continued. “Where do you have her?” 

The loud ring of Lestrade’s phone echoed in the silence, pulling Sherlock out of his head and causing him to stare at the inspector as if he had just arrived. Sherlock watched intently as he answered the call and walked into the kitchen, acutely aware of the immediate change in the inspector. As he stepped closer he noticed the slump in the man’s shoulders, the dip in his tone of voice, the strain in his lower jaw…something was wrong.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, coming up behind Lestrade. 

Lestrade turned with a solemn look on his face. “There was an explosion in Cambridge,” he explained.  
Sherlock felt a chill down his body, as Lestrade ran his hand through his hair. “John’s been rushed to the hospital.” Sherlock froze as Lestrade continued. “The woman who was with him is dead.”


End file.
